He Couldn't
by Skellagirl
Summary: He tried to kill her, but he just couldn't. -Onesided slight Barkis/Victoria-


A/N: Something slightly different for you. I really wanted to try and write a little more melodramatically, a little more 'poetically', as well as use less 'ly' adverbs, as apparently those are somewhat frowned upon. /:I

I love writing dialogue! :D

And no, I don't exactly support Barkis/Victoria. I'm much more of a Victor/Victoria person myself, but this idea grabbed me and refused to let go, so I had to write it!

Tim Burton owns everything; I'm just using them for my own evil deeds. I apologize in advance for any OOCness!

--

The room was silent. Lord Barkis Bittern reflected on the events of the day with a sort of twisted joy, and pondered what he would do next. He looked across the table at his new wife, formerly Victoria Everglot, and now Lady Victoria Bittern. At the moment, her face was void of any expression as she gazed blankly into space, scarcely breathing, rarely blinking, her whole countenance paler and gaunter than any other person's in the town, but otherwise she was quite beautiful.

He scoffed, bringing no attention to himself. It mattered not. She'd be dead before the night's end, anyway, buried six feet under the cold, unforgiving earth, just like Emily. He had no use for her, and she was miserable; undoubtedly she would be much happier in death.

He let his mind wander back to the church, back to the face of that infernal Victor as he snatched Victoria away, and how Victoria had screamed as he stabbed his sword into her once-lover's chest. The boy's expression would be forever etched into his mind. One of pure horror, tinged with the effort of trying to be so brave, so noble. It must have been so hard on Victoria, not that Barkis cared much for other people's emotions. Victor would live happily-ever-after with Emily, just like he'd promised, and Victoria would do nothing about it.

The sound of sobbing brought him back to present-day, and he looked up to see Victoria rubbing the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve, trying to be discreet.

"Oh, do try to get a hold of yourself, my dear," he said tiredly. "Blubbering will not bring your dear Victor back."

She looked up at him, fire in her eyes. "You have caused me enough pain today, Barkis Bittern. I ask that you kindly allow me the freedom to mourn over lost loved ones, and refrain from crippling me further." She sniffed and swallowed back a sob, covering her mouth briefly as though she would be sick, then stood up. "Please, excuse me." And she turned on her heel and quitted the room; nay, the entire house, choosing, rather than resting in her room, to squander what was left of her energy roaming around in the cold night.

Barkis watched her go silently, until she was out of sight, and then turned to look at where she had been seated. Her food was untouched, her dinnerware clean of any fingerprints. The one thing missing was the napkin, which she had taken with her. He stared down at his own food, which looked quite the same as his wife's – untouched. He glanced between his silverware and the front door, which she had left open, for several moments before standing up suddenly, banging his knees on the table. He took his knife from the table and set off to follow her.

She was easy to spot, as she was the only living thing in the entire town awake at this hour besides him. Unsurprisingly, she was headed for the church, where mere hours ago her Victor had been slain before her eyes. He followed like a dog on the hunt, and the way there was uninterrupted. Soon after he left, it began to rain, disguising his footsteps. Although he feared she would turn back in fear of catching a cold, she did not. She continued on to the church, quickening her pace, her nice dress becoming soiled with mud.

She finally paused at the front door, as if she knew he was following her, but continued inside. Pastor Galswell had not returned since the living dead had infiltrated his church, and thus it was abandoned. He walked briskly up to the door and hesitated, listening. All he could hear were the echoing sobs of his Victoria and her footsteps as she walked down the aisle. He gripped the handle of his knife a little tighter, licking his lips, taking a moment to prepare himself. Of course he was not having sudden second thoughts – he was not that fickle – he was merely contemplating the best way to go about this. What if she put up a fight? Well, she was weak, and flesh was easily cut through. Even if she did prove resistant, there was little she could do unless she was armed, which was highly unlikely, as he'd seen all of her cutlery on the table after she'd left. No, this would be easy.

He peeked inside, saw that her back was turned to him, and then entered. She was standing in front of the altar, her hands on her face, crying loudly.

"I've never understood what use crying has," he began, sauntering up the aisle towards her, knife held behind his back. "It does nothing but temporarily relieve the pain..."

She stiffened and silenced, but did not turn around. "Go away."

He only laughed in response, a horrible, humourless sound. "Oh, dear Victoria... Oh, how I wish I could say I will cry for you..." She turned at this and saw that, although he was looking at her, his eyes were not focused. It was an eerie sight, and an immediate indicator of what he was about to do.

"Go away," she said again, louder. "Get out of here! I don't love you, and I never will! You will never be half the gentleman Victor was!"

Barkis laughed again. "Alas, my dear, it's not love I ask of you; no, nothing so burdening as that. I simply ask that you hold still, because it will make this _so much easier_... for both of us." He walked up the stairs, nearing her, driving her backwards against the altar. "I'm sorry." He pulled his arm back, knife poised and ready, and focused on the spot he would drive the blade into. But she screamed, and his eyes were brought to her face.

And he froze.

He did not understand exactly why, but his muscles suddenly tensed, rendering him incapable of moving at all. His hands trembled, his mouth opened, his eyes widened, but he could not move. Even his mind ground to a halt, the single-minded determination giving way to blankness and confusion, and it all happened once he saw her face.

That terrified, helpless expression was the first he'd seen on it since his battle with Victor, and the effect of it was intensified by her cowering away, causing her already small figure to become even tinier. She stared up at him with wide eyes, her furrowed brows lifted as high as they could go, her mouth open in a loud scream. It was utterly revolting to see her like this, but something about it stopped him dead in his tracks.

And then it hit him.

It was an expression identical to the one that had been on Emily's face right before he'd killed her, and something about it had struck a chord in him where nothing else could. It looked so strikingly similar, yet so different. Emily had at least died with the health and beauty of an excited bride. Victoria, on the other hand, had, in truth, lost something very dear to her, and even through the initial terror, was unafraid to die. She was broken, torn apart so much it would be impossible for her to be whole again.

He did not know how much time passed before he was able to control himself again, but it could not have been very long, as Victoria hadn't moved. She was standing a little straighter, looking at him in confusion, but too afraid to run away. Before he knew what had happened, the knife fell from his trembling hand and clattered noisily against the stone floor. Victoria wrapped her arms around herself, staring at him.

"I can't do it," he sputtered, and moved his hand to his forehead. Victoria stood up straight now, lowering her brow, regaining what was left of her dignity.

"You're a madman, Barkis Bittern," she said venomously, "If there was ever a personification of cowardice, you are him." She ran past him without another word.

He stood there, slumped from the sudden mental blow. The image of her was burned so deeply into his mind that he could recall every detail of it when he closed his eyes, and it was painful. It was almost physically painful to think that he had not been able to carry out his dark deed, when it had been so easy with Emily. Where had he miscalculated? Where had he failed? Surely he was not taking pity on the girl?

It was nearing dawn when he left the church, no closer to a conclusion than when he had started. Every few minutes his thoughts had been interrupted by that now-haunting image of her. It was so unusual, this complete bewilderment, this utter lack of understanding. He was a clever fellow, how could this have befallen him?

The rain had stopped, leaving only mud and moistness behind, and he walked slowly back to the Everglot mansion, having nowhere else to go. It was still dark, with only a few hours left before daylight.

He felt different. He felt empty, as if his very soul had left him and he was now an empty shell, as if the needs of the world no longer applied to him, as if he did not really exist, as if he was a ghost. It somehow scared him, although of course he would never admit it, and had even less of a need to if he was really a ghost (Which of course he was not, he tried to convince himself). He did not know what he would do now. If he was unable to rid himself of Victoria, and assuming she did not kill herself, he was forever married, forever tied down to one person, forever a poor man. It sent sheets of ice down his back. He could not imagine life as anything other than rich, much less completely penniless.

Up until his entrance into the Everglot Mansion, his mind had been whirling, but upon stepping foot inside, it died completely. He was utterly brain-dead, wasted, exhausted, unable to form any significant thought. He looked up the stairs, to the closed door of Victoria's room, gripping the knife in his hand. He hadn't realized he'd actually brought it with him until this instant, and suddenly, contrary to what he thought was possible, a thought entered his brain. He would try again. Perhaps if she was dead, he would be returned to normal, able to feel like a human being again, capable of interacting with the world again.

He walked up the stairs and listened at the door for a moment. It was silent, so he went inside, never mind the scandalous nature of it. He was half-surprised he hadn't melted through the door. And there was Victoria, sleeping, unaware of his presence. He walked over to her and bent over the bed to watch her, and at once came to the same conclusion as before.

He could not kill her. It was just impossible.

It was an infuriating thought, but it was true. Somehow, she had taken hold of his heart and refused to let go, transforming him into some kind of love-blinded fool. It was the very antithesis of Barkis Bittern, of the persona he had made for himself.

"I hope you are happy," he hissed, "I don't know what witchcraft you've pulled on me, but it's worked. Is this what you meant to do? Make me look like an imbecile? Surely I will become a laughingstock, never to be respected again!" He grabbed her face roughly, not really caring if she woke up, but she did not stir. "This is your fault, you blasted harpy. I fear you may have made me fall in love with you." He leaned over her and kissed her angrily before stepping away. With one more glance at the bed where she slept, he left the room.

The sun would be rising soon, and with it, that infernal Victoria, that stupid, helpless, maddening, perplexing, beautiful woman who was his wife.

--

So yeah, that's it. I usually hate these things, but if you've got any constructive crit., please, please tell me! This is my first venture into this kind of writing, and I would really like to hear about any slow/boring parts, any redundant parts, any suggestions, etc, etc...

And yes, I know I used a few words too many times. :( It's a bad habit!

Also, rating: Up? Down? What do you think?

-Skellagirl


End file.
